


In the Midnight Blue

by xanthippe74



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Christmas, Developing Relationship, Dreams and Nightmares, Flying, HP Wireless Festive Minifest 2020, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Songfic, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27978675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanthippe74/pseuds/xanthippe74
Summary: On a Christmas Eve broom ride over Hogwarts, Harry shows Draco that he’s braver than he thinks.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 136
Collections: Wireless Festive Minifest 2020





	In the Midnight Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [_Walking in the Air_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31mjvrydaLM) from the animated film, _The Snowman_.
> 
> With thanks to [glittering_git](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittering_git/pseuds/glittering_git), who swooped in when I needed a beta, and the Wireless mods for running a fest that gives me an excuse to write another song fic.

_When Harry was small, curled up in musty blankets under the stairs, he dreamed of flying._

_He didn’t take to the sky on a broom or on the back of an animal, but on a motorcycle as silent as an owl gliding through the darkness. It was always nighttime in the dreams, clear and starlit like the photographs of the Milky Way in Harry’s school books._

_And someone was always with him, someone safe and strong. The two of them were on an adventure—a secret adventure that Harry knew he would cherish after it was over, like a treasure hidden beneath a loose floorboard. The air was fresh and crisp as they flew over the little villages, and when they dipped closer to the ground, Harry waved to any children peeking out their windows. He knew they could be trusted not to tell anyone what they had seen._

_But the motorcycle never stayed low for long. Harry and his unseen co-pilot would race upwards again, over forests and hilltops, laughing with the joy and freedom of it. There was nothing better than the wind on his face, the openness in every direction._

_There was nothing better than flying._

* * *

“Again?” Harry asks, and starts to put the chess pieces back in their starting positions without waiting for Malfoy’s answer.

“No.”

Harry blinks up at him in the firelight. “No?”

“I’ve already beaten you three times. Easily, I might add.” Malfoy leans back in his armchair and crosses his legs, careful not to knock into the chess board hovering in front of his knees. “Unless you’ve been holding back on me, which I doubt very much. I think that’s enough to declare myself the champion of the eighth-year common room tonight.”

“Only because Ron isn’t here,” Harry mumbles. He leans down to reach for the wooden box at his feet and begins to put the chess pieces away. The knight takes a few swings at Harry’s hand with his sword to show his displeasure with their multiple defeats.

In fact, no one else is here. Harry and Malfoy are the only eighth years staying at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays. Other than the pop and crackle of the fire beside them, the room is eerily quiet. Harry’s glad to engage in a bit of banter with Malfoy after three nearly-wordless chess games.

“It’s difficult to believe that playing against Weasley for years hasn’t improved your skill,” Malfoy drawls. “One would think you were _deliberately resisting_ it. You made moves that even a first year would know are careless.”

“Play games with first years much, Malfoy?” Harry asks, shaking off the pawn that’s clinging to his index finger. “I thought you’d learnt to pick on people your own size.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Harry worries that he’s gone too far. He shoots a grin at Malfoy to let him know that he’s just teasing. Malfoy’s rigid expression relaxes into a wry smirk, much to Harry’s relief.

“Someone has to teach them. I hope I did a better job at it than Weasley did.”

“Oi, Ron’s a very good teacher!” Harry says loyally. “I don’t have a head for strategy, that’s all. How about Exploding Snap?”

“Salazar, Potter. Are we _ten years old_? You know, that Father Christmas fellow won’t come tonight if you don’t go to sleep soon,” Malfoy says, tilting his head towards the Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

“Thanks for the reminder,” Harry says while rolling his eyes. “I’m glad you’ve been paying attention in your Muggle Studies classes.”

“It really is getting late,” Malfoy points out.

“I slept all afternoon. There wasn’t anything else to do. Besides, you’re the one who came knocking on my door asking if I wanted to play a few games.”

Malfoy doesn’t reply. He shakes his wand from his sleeve and levitates another log onto the fire—something that’s completely unnecessary, even if they do stay up for a little while longer. The room is stuffy already, and Harry’s right side feels like it’s being roasted like a Christmas turkey.

He takes Malfoy’s cue and stares into the flames, glancing over every minute or so to make sure that Malfoy isn’t upset. He seems tranquil enough on the surface, dressed with his usual care in pressed trousers and a soft—and ludicrously expensive, no doubt—silvery-green jumper. Other than reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ears, he isn’t fidgety. And yet, he closes his eyes for long moments, as if thinking of something painful.

Harry was happy to accept his invitation to play chess, not only because he was bored, but because he understood Malfoy’s need for company this evening. It’s a difficult holiday for almost everyone, laced with grief and studded with reminders of the people who are missing from the muted celebrations.

Harry can only imagine how Malfoy’s feeling tonight. Both of his parents are in Azkaban.

Lucius’ conviction wasn’t a surprise, of course. The Wizengamot wasn’t about to let him off a second time, especially since he never finished his sentence for breaking into the Department of Mysteries. Harry testified for both Draco and Narcissa, and his relief when Draco was acquitted quickly turned into dismay at his mother’s trial the following day. She was sentenced to two years in prison. Harry can still see Malfoy’s expression when the court announced their decision. His already-pale face went white as a sheet, and he sat on the courtroom benches, rigid from shock, long after the guards led Narcissa away.

Malfoy didn’t hold his mother’s conviction against Harry. On the contrary, his attitude towards Harry when they returned to Hogwarts was a kind of solemn civility. Malfoy seemed determined to move forward, resisting the pull of the anguish that Harry could easily detect beneath his mask of composure. Harry felt compelled to acknowledge him, and then tentatively engage in some safe small talk as the school term went on. Lately, they’ve progressed to teasing each other in a way that Harry finds surprisingly enjoyable.

Who would have thought that letting Draco Malfoy take the piss out of him (and vice versa) would be the highlight of Harry’s days?

He’s felt a strange kinship with Malfoy since his parents’ trials, too—something different than what he shares with Ron and Hermione. They were both drawn, unwillingly, into the darkest, most inescapable centre of the war’s maelstrom. And both of them had lost their parents, one way or another.

Those are awfully grim things to have in common… hardly something upon which to base a friendship, which is what Harry is beginning to suspect he’d like to have with Malfoy.

Watching Malfoy drum his long, agile fingers on the upholstered arms of his chair, Harry suddenly remembers something else they share.

“Do you want to go flying?” he asks.

“What, _now_? It’s almost midnight and cold as a sea witch’s tits out there, Potter.”

“So what? We can use Warming Charms. What’s the fun of not having a curfew if you don’t go out late sometimes? Come on,” Harry coaxes, “it’ll be good to get some fresh air.”

He folds up the chess board and packs it away while Malfoy considers the idea. When Harry looks back up, he wonders what Malfoy could be thinking that has brought a sudden flush to his cheeks. Maybe it’s just the heat of the fire, Harry reasons.

“All right.” Malfoy pushes himself out of the armchair. “Just a quick flight, but let’s go where no one will see us from the castle windows. I find it hard to believe McGonagall will approve of our slipping out in the middle of the night.”

“You make it sound so sordid,” Harry says with a laugh, but immediately regrets it when he sees Malfoy’s face get even pinker. “Don’t worry. I go out all the time when I can’t sleep, and nobody’s said anything about it.”

“Well, maybe they don’t for _you_ ,” Malfoy mutters as they walk to the dormitories. “The rules are applied a little more stringently for the rest of us.”

“We’re not breaking any rules!” Harry says in exasperation. “No curfew, remember? Meet back in the common room in a few minutes?”

“All right, fine. But if Filch catches us in the corridors, you’re in charge of convincing him not to give us detentions.”

“Oh, we’re not going out that way,” Harry says over his shoulder as he opens the door of his room, then slips inside without explaining further. He’s going to enjoy the look on Malfoy’s face when he sees Harry’s secret escape hatch from the castle.

After putting on an extra layer of clothing and then his warmest coat, hat, and gloves, Harry grabs his broom and hurries to the common room. It won’t be long before he starts sweating dressed like this.

Harry can’t help laughing when Malfoy emerges from the staircase. He looks like he’s ready for an expedition to the North Pole instead of a short flight around the school grounds. With two scarves wrapped around his neck and a woollen beanie pulled low on his head, the only parts of Malfoy still visible are his eyes and the bridge of his pointy nose.

“Don’t make fun, Potter, or I’ll turn around and go to bed,” Malfoy threatens, his voice muffled. “I have no intention of spending Christmas Day in the Infirmary being treated for hypothermia.”

“Don’t worry. Flying will keep us warm, as long as we don’t stop for too long. Come on, this way.”

Harry leads Malfoy through the doorway to the girls’ dormitory.

“Where on earth—” Malfoy begins as they climb the stairs.

Harry stops on the landing where the staircase doubles back, halfway up to the next floor. There’s a large window, almost as tall as they are, with diamond-shaped panes. Harry unlatches one side and pushes it out like a door swung open, then mounts his broom. The cold air rushes through the window and over his face like an icy stream.

“Oh, I see,” Malfoy says. “I assumed the boys were warded out of here.”

Harry grins at him. “We are. But the wards begin at the top of the stairs.”

“Convenient.”

Harry pushes off and soars through the window, then upward towards the stars. The sky is awash with points of light, coalescing in the bright swath of the Milky Way over the castle. A half moon is making its slow descent over the peaks of the mountains. Harry levels off, reckoning that they’re high enough to be out of sight from the windows, and looks over his shoulder at Malfoy.

There’s no one there.

At first, Harry thinks that maybe it’s just too dark to see Malfoy in his dark cloak and hat, but a scan of the air around him shows that he’s alone. He turns his broom and swoops back to the castle.

Malfoy’s face looks ghostly inside the open window. He has pulled his scarves down, and Harry can tell, even from a few yards away, that he’s having second thoughts.

“What’s wrong? The cold isn’t that bad, honestly,” Harry says.

Malfoy shakes his head. “It isn’t that.”

“What, then?”

“I haven’t flown in a long time,” Malfoy explains, his voice tense and controlled.

“I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how,” Harry tells him, laughing. “Just hop on! I didn’t touch a broom for months and months last year, but instinct just took over once I did. I didn’t even have to think about it.”

Malfoy closes his eyes briefly. His breath makes soft clouds in the frigid air. “ _You know_ the last time I was on a broom, Potter.”

_Oh._ Now Harry understands. Merlin, that Fiendfyre consuming the Room of Requirement is in his regular rotation of nightmares. He has awakened more times than he can count, shaking and gasping, with the roar of the flames still echoing in his mind.

“We don’t have to…” Harry begins gently.

“No, I _want_ to. I’ve wanted to for months.” Malfoy meets Harry’s gaze with determination. “I just… Give me a second, okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Harry turns away to give Malfoy some privacy. In the distance, ice rings the lake around the edges, but the rest is still unfrozen and as black and star-spangled as the sky that it’s reflecting. After a few moments, he hears a sharp exhale, then Malfoy appears beside him, looking straight ahead.

“Let’s go,” he says to Harry and pulls his scarves back up over his face. “Away from the castle, please.”

The school grounds are still and silent below them, blanketed in fresh snow unmarred by footprints and inter-house snowball fights. Harry directs them through the glass-sharp air towards the gates. They swing open at the boys’ approach. Malfoy grunts in disbelief as they descend in a smooth arc and pass beneath the gateway. It’s the first sound Harry has heard out of him since they’ve been flying.

“Do you usually go this far?” Malfoy asks, sounding wary.

“Nah, I like to do a few laps around the pitch, or around the edge of the grounds if I want to change things up.”

“Does Weasley ever go out with you?”

“No, he sleeps like a log.”

_In Hermione’s bed_ , Harry adds silently. It’s a rare night when Ron’s in their shared room, usually when Hermione is up late studying or writing an essay for one of her seventeen NEWT-level classes. Harry doesn’t like it—it’s strange waking up without someone else’s quiet breathing (or snoring, in Ron’s case) to reassure him and anchor him back to reality. But it’s probably best for him to get used to sleeping alone. He’s a bloody grown-up now, right?

They fly along the road to Hogsmeade for a few minutes before they speak again. Harry’s relieved that Malfoy’s voice sounds normal now.

“So… you’re not spending any of the holidays at the Weasleys’ home this year? Not that it’s any of my business, of course,” Malfoy adds quickly.

“I’m going over for dinner tomorrow,” Harry replies. He pauses to watch a small animal—a fox?—dart across the road ahead of them, hardly more than a shadow against the snow. “It didn’t feel right to stay there, especially since Hermione’s spending the hols in Australia. It’s their first Christmas without Fred.”

“I know,” Malfoy says, so softly that Harry barely hears him.

They pass the train station, then glide around the bend where the lights of Hogsmeade come into view ahead of them. Harry’s nose registers the change from pine to woodsmoke as they approach. The bare trees are strung with glowing candles, lighting up the empty streets. In the centre of the village, a large Christmas tree towers over the low buildings, almost blinding to eyes that have grown accustomed to only moonlight.

Harry pulls his broom up to fly over the rooftops instead of down the high street. Malfoy follows without hesitation, but he makes an inquisitive sound when Harry glances over at him.

“I’ve never seen it from above in the winter!” Harry says happily.

Below, the village is reduced to crooked rows of snow-covered rooftops and a sparse forest of brick chimneys. They soar around the Christmas tree, close enough to reach out and touch the glowing star on the top, then up the hill towards the Shrieking Shack. It stands unchanged and ominous as ever. Harry looks up at the stars instead.

Malfoy calls out to Harry while they’re swinging around to return to the village.

“I need to catch my breath for a minute,” he explains with a sheepish laugh when Harry comes to a stop beside him. “I didn’t realise how out of shape I am.”

Harry tries to read his expression, but it’s impossible with the darkness and the scarves over his face.

“It’s good, though?” Harry asks carefully. “Flying?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Malfoy says emphatically. “It’s very good.”

Harry grins behind his own scarf, pride warming him from the inside. It feels like a small victory to reclaim an innocent pleasure from its association with a dark and terrifying memory.

“Should we head back to the castle? Do you need to be up in the morning?” Harry asks, then winces at his own thoughtlessness.

“No, I can have a lie in, as long as I don’t mind missing breakfast,” Malfoy answers with a shrug. “I don’t have any other plans.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t, Potter. It’s fine. Pansy invited me to France for the hols, you know.”

Harry squirms on his broom, unsure if Malfoy expects him to ask why he didn’t accept. The silence drags on a few beats too long for Harry’s comfort, so he gives into his curiosity.

“And you didn’t want to go?”

“I didn’t want to spend two weeks being stared at and whispered about,” Malfoy says. “Unlike _some families_ , the Parkinsons managed to keep their good reputation, and they’ll have guests over almost every day. I have no interest in being watched constantly like a dog that might bite one of the children.”

“Yeah, I see.”

“I don’t think you do, Potter, but thank you for trying.” Malfoy breathes heavily into the cold air for a moment, then adds, “I don’t think I could face that, just yet. I’m not ready.”

“I’m not ready to face a lot of things yet, myself,” Harry tells him, meeting his eyes.

The Forbidden Forest. Visiting Godric’s Hollow again. Speaking to Professor Snape’s newly-hung portrait in the dungeons (he refused to be in the Headmistress’ Office, Harry heard, on the grounds that he’d never have a moment’s peace there). He glances down at the ramshackle building fifty feet below. It’s unlikely he’ll ever be able to set foot in _there_ again. Maybe it would be better if someone hit it with an _Incendio_ and finally did away with the miserable place.

A violent shiver makes his broom dip slightly. They’ve been still for too long, and the cold is starting to creep through Harry’s gloves and shoes.

“Let’s go back across the lake,” Harry suggests. “It’s more direct than the road.”

Malfoy nods, readjusting his grip on his broom handle. “All right. Can we get through the wards that way, do you think?”

“No, we’ll have to go through the gates again. Just veer left when we get close to that side of the lake, and we’ll get back to the road.”

“We’re not going to slam into the wards halfway across, I hope,” Malfoy says sharply.

“They’re pretty close to the shoreline. I was here over the summer when the staff was recasting them.”

“That must have been a sight,” Malfoy murmurs as they both lean forward to put their brooms in motion again. “I can’t imagine the amount of magic it took to do it.”

“The castle itself has a lot of magic, then there were about ten people all around the perimeter. They made the wards cover a smaller area this time, but stronger than before,” Harry explains.

Malfoy huffs a laugh. “So that’s why McGonagall didn’t have to warn us away from the Forbidden Forest during the Welcome Feast this year, hmm?”

“Yep,” Harry says. “I can’t believe they never thought of doing that before, to be honest. It’s like they _wanted_ kids to go looking for trouble in there.”

“Only Gryffindors are so foolish.”

“Oi! Sometimes trouble finds us, you know!”

They sail over the village and down the steep, wooded hillside that lies between Hogsmeade and the lake. Harry’s cheeks sting from the wind. The vast stretch of empty air before them just begs for a race, and he stretches over his broom handle without thinking. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Malfoy keeping pace with him, seeming content to match Harry for once instead of competing with him.

As they fly like arrows over the dark water, guided only by the few lights in the castle windows, Harry feels something fall into place inside him. There’s a _rightness_ to this moment beyond the perfect match of his and Malfoy’s velocities. It’s both comfortingly familiar, like the echo of a lovely dream, and as joyful as a long-anticipated gift that he finally gets to open.

“Turn left in about five seconds!” Harry calls out when he sees the frozen edge of the far shore approaching. The castle is a dark, irregular shape blocking the stars, with the moon almost kissing the top of Ravenclaw Tower.

Malfoy pulls his broom to the left in a smooth curve, and Harry accelerates slightly to stay beside him on the outside of the arc. The surface of the water is ruffled by their passing as they fly towards the pine trees that hide the road.

Just as Harry is beginning to think about the cosy common room and a hot cuppa, a dark tentacle shoots from the dark water directly in front of them, lashing at the air. Malfoy shouts and hauls the handle of his broom to his chest to fly upward. Before Harry can do the same, two more tentacles emerge, curling towards him.

He veers to the right as hard as he can to dodge the black, writhing arms. There’s no way to know if it’s the right choice—the squid might be right below him, ready to reach in any direction, for all he knows. Over the splashing of the water and his own heavy breathing, Harry hears Malfoy calling his name and something else. He understands too late why Malfoy is trying to warn him.

Harry forgot about the wards.

The tip of his broomstick takes the brunt of the impact and slides upward over the invisible surface of the wards. Grip loosened by the jolt, Harry slips off the back of the broom. His gloved fingertips scramble for the tail twigs, brushing them as he falls. In the shock of the moment, Harry barely has time to register what’s happening before he hits the icy water.

It takes Harry’s breath away. His lungs simply _stop_ , and lake water fills his mouth. He’s able to surface quickly—they weren’t flying high—but his layers of clothing make it hard to keep his head up long enough to spit out the water and take a breath.

A tentacle brushes his leg. He cries out, half-expecting to be pulled under.

“Harry!”

Almost as abruptly as he fell in, Harry’s jerked out of the water again. Malfoy’s flying towards him, wand pointed at Harry and eyes frantic. A Levitation Charm. It holds Harry just above the roiling surface until Malfoy can guide his broom closer. Harry’s heart thuds in his ears and his dripping limbs feel as limp as a puppet’s.

“Get on behind me!” Malfoy shouts, tugging Harry’s arm.

Harry’s adrenaline-flooded brain finally understands what he needs to do, and he grabs fistfuls of Malfoy’s cloak to haul himself astride the broom. When he feels Harry gripping him securely, Malfoy makes a beeline for the shore. The frigid air makes Harry start to shiver violently. He drapes himself over Malfoy’s back and holds on as tightly as he can.

At the edge of the lake, Malfoy sets them down carefully.

“W-why are you st-stopping here?” Harry chatters.

Without a word, Malfoy casts a half a dozen Drying Charms at him, then a Warming Charm. It doesn’t stop Harry from shaking.

“My b-broom,” Harry says when Malfoy picks his own back up.

Malfoy Summons it for him. There’s no sign of the squid as they watch the broom shoot towards them. Harry remounts behind Malfoy after he catches the broom. It’s drenched, of course, and not safe to fly—ice would likely form on the tail before they were halfway back to the castle. He tucks the handle firmly under his arm so he can still hold onto Malfoy with both hands.

“Ready?” Malfoy asks, sounding as rattled as Harry feels.

He launches them, steady but swift, into the air again. They fly over the trees until the pale stripe of the road comes into view below, and they descend to skim over it. Harry tucks his head between Malfoy’s shoulder blades, trying to stay out of the wind as much as he can. The taste of the lake water is making him feel sick, and he wants nothing more than to lie down.

After they race through the gate, Harry feels Malfoy lean forward slightly.

“Don’t fall off,” he orders Harry as they begin to ascend.

At last, they fly through the open window of the girls’ dormitory. Malfoy doesn’t stop at the top of the staircase. He guides his broom back to the common room and lands near the fireplace. As soon as he dismounts, Malfoy takes both brooms, setting them on the floor. Then he starts pulling off the outer layers of Harry’s clothes. They’re still damp, despite the Drying Charms.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Malfoy mutters as he fumbles with the buttons on Harry’s coat. He’s breathing hard—harder than someone who’s standing still should be.

Harry catches Malfoy’s wrists with cold hands. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”

“Bloody squid just had to be playful, didn’t it? You could have fucking drowned!” Malfoy gets the last buttons undone and peels the coat off Harry’s shoulders. “You could have been knocked unconscious when you hit the wards!”

“I didn’t. I’m all right,” Harry tells him again.

As soon as Malfoy gets his own things off, Harry pulls him into a hug. Malfoy makes a choked sound.

“Stupid, sodding squid,” he says into Harry’s shoulder.

His arms wrap around Harry’s waist, and Harry feels Malfoy’s breaths begin to slow where they’re pressed together.

“Thank you. For getting me out of the water,” Harry whispers. “That was right quick thinking. And brave, too. The squid could have knocked you off your broom.”

“Merlin, I’m not _brave_ Potter,” Malfoy huffs. “I’m a fucking coward. I’m scared all the time.”

“That’s not true,” Harry protests.

“It is. It really is. I’m scared to leave my room every morning. I’m scared that the Ministry is going to change their mind and arrest me. I’m sc-scared—” Malfoy curls further around Harry. “I’m _terrified_ that something’s going to happen to my mother in Azkaban, that I’m going to get a letter one day, telling me…”

“She’s going to be okay. She’s strong and smart,” Harry tries to reassure him.

He wishes he could promise Malfoy that his mother will be all right, but he truly doesn’t know what the conditions are like in Azkaban. One thing he can do is check on Narcissa Malfoy through whatever Ministry channels he can access. Harry resolves to do it right after Boxing Day.

“I’m tired of being afraid. You have no idea how exhausting it is. How humiliating,” Malfoy says.

“Don’t I? Don’t I know? Every day, I expect some disaster to happen. I walk around the corridors thinking that I’m going to hear a scream or an explosion. And I wake up almost every fucking night convinced that someone I care about’s in danger. God, Malfoy. I _know_ what it’s like to live like that.”

Malfoy nods into the nape of Harry’s neck and clings to him more tightly.

“I thought it would be better after _he_ was gone. But it still feels like a bad dream I wish I could wake from,” Malfoy says. “I can’t bear it sometimes.”

“It’ll get easier. It has to, right? If we just keep going?”

“Keep going,” Malfoy repeats. He shifts in Harry’s arms, but doesn’t pull away. “I haven’t thanked you… for how kind you’ve been since we’ve come back here. You have every reason to shun me, like everyone else, but you haven’t. It’s one of the few things that has helped me _keep going_.”

He turns his head and kisses Harry on the cheek, his soft lips pressing firmly into Harry’s skin. Then Malfoy steps back and looks at Harry, appearing rather startled by his own boldness.

Harry’s body suddenly decides to be hot instead of cold. He meets Malfoy’s gaze with wide eyes. “Er, you’re welcome,” he manages to say.

Malfoy turns away and crosses the common room to the tiny kitchen tucked into the corner.

“I’ll make some tea. You should go take a hot shower to make sure you haven’t caught a chill. And you smell like lake water.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry says, watching him fuss with the kettle and the teapot. “I’ll be right back.”

Harry goes to his room in a daze. He reaches up and touches the place on his cheek that Malfoy kissed. Is that something Malfoy does with his friends?

_What did it mean?_

After giving himself a shake for overthinking what was probably just a friendly gesture, Harry grabs his shower things and heads for the bathroom. It’s tempting to linger under the hot water, but Malfoy is waiting for him in the common room. Harry lets his mind conjure the image—Malfoy back in the armchair, the flickering light of the fire dancing on his sharp features and sombre expression while he’s lost in his thoughts.

Fatigue, both mental and physical, from their eventful flight is starting to pull at him, but his mind returns to Malfoy while he puts on his pyjamas and a fresh jumper. The idea of him spending Christmas here alone presses like a stone inside a shoe, demanding action.

By the time he trots down the stairs to the common room, Harry’s formed his plan: a Floo call to Andromeda in the morning, which will hopefully result in Harry’s bringing a guest along tomorrow. She has asked about her nephew more than once when she wrote to Harry to keep him updated about Teddy. Harry thinks he can appeal to her curiosity and compassion to convince her to invite Malfoy for a Christmas Day visit.

When Harry arrives in the common room, he’s disappointed to find Malfoy’s nowhere to be seen.

The teapot, however, sits on a side table with the other tea things, steam drifting from its spout. Even if Malfoy changed his mind and went to bed, Harry can’t let a perfectly good pot of tea go to waste. He pours a splash of milk into a mug from the charmed pitcher that keeps it cold, then fills it with tea. Halfway to the fireplace, he stops in his tracks.

Malfoy’s asleep on the sofa, stretched on his side with one hand trapped between his cheek and the throw pillow beneath his head.

Harry eases himself down into an armchair. Something new and tentative unfurls in his chest while he watches Malfoy, something far beyond the sympathy that drew him closer to his former rival when the school term began.

His tea grows cold as he tries to work it out, watching Malfoy smile in his sleep.

* * *

_Draco sleeps and dreams of flying._

_It’s the same dream he’s had since he was a small child, curled up in a too-large bed in a too-large bedroom. He steps out his window, the one that overlooks Mother’s rose garden and the sweep of the Manor lawns beyond it, feeling so light that he could float away like a puff of smoke._

_Then someone takes his hand, some faceless child come to play with Draco in the quiet night. Nighttime at the Manor is never as silent as the dream—there are owls screeching and foxes barking and frogs croaking. But in the dream, Draco doesn’t hear any of these sounds, just the faint singing of the stars above him._

_The hand gripping his is small but warm. Whoever it is is much braver and bolder than Draco. He would never dare slip out of his bedroom to soar higher than he’s ever gone on a broom, even with Father, above the dense forest that surrounds the Manor like an impenetrable wall._

_Draco never wants the dream to end. He never wants to go back to his shadowy, too-big room when he could be flying beneath the stars. He doesn’t want to be parted from his companion, even though they don’t have a face or a name..._

_Until tonight._

_Draco’s eyes find their clasped hands as they soar; his gaze drifts upwards—wrist, arm, then shoulder—and he sees who he’s flying with for the first time. He’s grinning and windblown, and Draco feels like he’s tumbling head over heels from the shock of seeing the familiar face beside him._

_He’s flying with Harry—beautiful, intrepid, joyous Harry, bright as a star himself—who’s looking at Draco as if he’s flown halfway around the world to get to him, squeezing Draco’s hand like he’ll never let go._

_In this dream, Draco leans forward, unburdened by fear or self-doubt, and kisses Harry._

_He can feel his own lips pulling into a smile, even as he’s desperate to keep their mouths together, touching Harry the way he’s wanted to for so long._

_There’s nothing better than kissing Harry Potter beneath the singing stars._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and Happy Holidays!
> 
> Visit me on [Tumblr](https://xanthippe74.tumblr.com/).


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